Saturday, November 19th, 2011. 2:36 A.M.
SOS. u awake?
Daphne was awake, panicked, trying to get ahold of Emmett. She'd sent a few texts, but so far none had been answered. She called his phone twice, hoping the buzzing and flashing would wake him up, to no avail. A frustrated squeal left her mouth, and she knew she would never get back to sleep, so she pulled her sneakers back on and went out to the driveway, where she'd left her basketball underneath the hoop. Trying to clear her mind, she starting dribbling, running over the past month in her head.
October 18th: her last period ended, she remembers because her birthday was that weekend.
October 27th: she has sex with Wilke, but she knows they used a condom.
The next three weeks were normal, until today, or yesterday, now.
November 18th: she's sick all day, then suddenly feels fine. She uses a sixteen-year-old pregnancy test, and it gives her a possible positive.
But she knows he used a condom. She remembers, because the wrapper was electric blue, and Wilke ripped it open with his teeth.
Oh my god, Daphne squeezes her eyes shut, his teeth. He ripped it open with his teeth. Shit. Oh, shit, shit shit shit.
"Oh for fuck's sake," she whispers. "Idiot."
She launches the basketball through the air, and it rolls around the rim of the basket, and then drops unceremoniously through the net, and bounces at her feet. She glances up at her mom's bedroom window, contemplating waking her up. No, bad idea, this could all just be a big mistake. She pulls her phone out of the pocket of her hoodie, flips it open, and texts Emmett again.
2:51 A.M.
WAKE UP. SOS. EMERGENCY!
She needs to take another test, a test that's from this millennium, at least. Or maybe ten tests, just to make sure. She rocks back and forth on her heels a few times, then slips back inside to grab her purse. There's a gas station right outside the neighborhood, and she can walk there and back before anyone wakes up. She puts her hearing aids in, hides the used test underneath her mattress, and starts booking it down the driveway to the street.
It takes thirty-three minutes for her to walk there; two minutes for her to buy four digital pregnancy tests and an extra-large half Coke and half cherry slushie, which she chugs in front of the cash register; eleven minutes for the slushie to make it's way to her bladder, and one minute and twenty-four seconds for her to pee on all four tests.
3:38 A.M.
She shoves the tests into the bottom of her purse, and starts speed-walking back home. After ten minutes, the results would be on the tests, but she can't bring herself to look. But she doesn't want to look at the house either, where she could wake anyone up if it all turns out wrong. So she keeps walking, past the house, past the west-side neighborhood entrance, until she gets to a playground in the middle of an expansive park. It's almost 4:30, and Daphne just sits on the swings, and waits. Waits for some courage, or a sign from the universe, she doesn't know which. The flick of a switch on her hearing aids, and the world goes dead silent.
Period. Sex. Condom. Teeth. Teeth, teeth, teeth.
It's all she can think about; if he just had used his hands instead of his teeth. If she had just not taken the flask out of his hands, or not gotten into his car at all, or never taken that stupid cooking class at Buckner.
But she did. And he did. This was just the consequence.
So she reaches into her purse without looking, feels around for all four tests, and picks them up one by one.
Positive. Okay, well, it could be wrong.
Positive. Maybe it's defective.
Negative. Thank god.
The last one sits in her hand, and she doesn't look. She doesn't want to. If it's negative, that gives her hope. Hope that there's a 50/50 chance. Hope that maybe she really is just sick and that it's messing with her hormones or something. Hope that the first two tests were just flat out wrong.
But. . .
If it's positive. Then that's three out of four. That's a seventy-five percent chance that she is actually pregnant. Pregnant, after she just turned sixteen years old. Pregnant, after finding out she was given to the wrong family, and missed fifteen years with her biological parents. Pregnant, and single, and not even old enough to vote, or smoke a cigarette, or buy fucking cough syrup from the pharmacy.
So she doesn't look, she just shoves it back down into her bag, and throws the rest into the trash, and starts walking home. If she runs, she can just make it before her mom wakes up. Her feet are hitting the pavement at an aggressive pace, her arms pumping hard, willing herself to go faster. She dumps her purse on the floor of her bedroom and slides under the covers just before the hallway light flicks on, and Regina casts a shuffling shadow across the wall.
Through sheer willpower, she forces herself to fall asleep, and stops thinking about the mystery test sitting five feet away from her.